Rats and Cats
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: A one spot detailing how Killian Jones started on his path to piracy (an elaboration of what he told Bae in "Second Star to the Right"). Possibly will serve as a flashback in a longer piece about what I hope happens in Neverland during season three. Please review. My first attempt at "Once" fan fic. (:


"_There are only two types of animals born in these gutters, lad: Rats and Cats. Now, a rat, you see, well he doesn't last very long. He takes sick with the plague, or he starves quick as a wink. But a cat? Now there's a canny creature! A cat is a survivor, Killian. The same things that kill a weaker creature—hunger, sickness, someone's knife at their throat—give the cat a reason to live. Cats are faster; they hunt down the rats, and the mice, and the fleas; and a cat can steal the cream from a dairymaid, and she'll keep him around because she's none the wiser. Cats hide in plain sight, my lad, and no one knows to be wary of 'em."_

For as long as he could remember, his Da had said the same thing after every job. After they worked a market day or the annual fair—Da dressed and made up as a blind beggar and Killian carefully filching trinkets from ladies' purses; after a night of climbing over the roofs of town, keeping his Da limber and fit and teaching the boy how to quietly creep over slate and stone and thatch; after every such adventure, his father would drink deeply of whatever was bought cheapest and share the thief's trade, the pickpocket's code with his son. Their life was easier when they lived in towns; but there was also more danger of being caught, and King George was not known to deal kindly with thieves.

By the time he was ten, Killian had lived in and moved from the portside town at least three times. By far, it was his favorite, not only because it was so large, so vast that a man and his son could disappear in it for much longer; but also because of the sea. Towns by the sea may occasionally smell of fish and brine, but they never stayed hot and stagnant for long. Breezes always cleaned the air, made it fresh and pure to breathe. And those same winds always brought with them ships and sailors with many a strange and exciting tale to be told by the light of a tavern fire. Da was working as a barkeep, maintaining a front of respectability and sending Killian out at night alone to scout their marks.

But that night before leaving for "work," Killian sat by an old sea dog, listening to a story of mermaids and an angry, vengeful goddess who calls up all storms. Will Jones watched the boy's face change in excitement, fear, and an ever-present joy as the sailor spun out his tales. He caught the gleam of envy, and perhaps a flinch of pain, as his son asked after the tattoos. He glanced over at another man who gave a slight nod of his head to indicate his need for another glass. Jones filled a mug with the cheap, thick ale and walked it over. Before he could set it down, a hand flashed out from beneath the table and grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip. He heard the metallic click of a pistol's hammer and froze.

"D'ye know who I am, Will Jones? D'ye know why I'm here?"

Jones knew alright. The first time he had come here with Killian, it had been not too long after the death of the lad's mother. The boy had been five, old enough and strong enough to begin his apprenticeship. A job had come through that was too important, Will would have had to have been a fool to refuse. But taking the job had come with a lot of risks—risks that had kept them from staying and which Jones had thought that he had outrun. He swallowed before nodding his head once. "Aye"

"Then ye know that you're a dead man now. Ye've been a dead man since the moment you decided to steal from me and mine, but now you know it. I've come to see your debt paid up."

Slowly, Will Jones lowered himself onto the bench across from the sailor. "I had hoped to never be found out, but I guess that's so much water now, isn't it?" His swallowed harshly again. "You know that I didn't have a choice? My boy—the Dark One said—"

"Aye, I know exactly what made you steal from me, and I know that you were given little choice in the matter. But the fact remains… you owe me. I'm a reasonable man; a gentleman of fortune." Jones snorted weakly, then quietly cried out in pain as his wrist was wrenched back viciously. "Easy there, Will, or I might forget my manners. Now, since I _am_ such a reasonable and kindly sort, I'm willing to make you a deal of my own…"


End file.
